The Martital Dance

Her dance is slow and graceful. The young woman sways rhythmically before the bright bonfire in front of a hushed crowd of observers. Her large oval shaped eyes are closed. Rich dark lashes fan her flushed cheeks as the music swells in unison to the steps of her small feet moving silently across smooth earth.

He notices the beads encircling her shapely neck. The flames lick them with a glowing light. Were they moving on their own, he wonders? The night wind is subtle, blowing her thin dress in folds along her tan limbs.

Three men stand in the shadows, leaning against a stand of trees which whisper above their heads. Each man wears garments carefully decorated with bright embroidery. Soft leather conforms to the muscular legs of each. They hold weapons of war in the crook of their arms. Each man's face is unreadable. One man will leave with the mesmerizing dancer, the victor of both Princess and the new ruler of a people.

The Princess's dying father sits immobile, off to himself. He sits just in the shadows of the fire, his hands slowly stroking the tribal drum handed down from his father, and his father's father before him.

At last the music crescendos and the dancer's feet slow in the dirt. Her hands raise high and her face tilts to the sky. Flames burst before the crowd sending sprays of bright embers into the night air.

The Princess's movements cease and the crowd is silent, as though holding their collective breath. Her dark eyes slowly open, facing the three warriors. Her full lips are parted. She levels her face on the warrior farthest to the left and her hand raises as though pulled by a string. She points to the warrior with long, black braids. Her hand lowers to her side and her voice raises into a haunting song of her people. The warrior steps into the circle of light and walks confidently past the seated tribe. Before her, he lowers on one knee and takes her small hand to his and completes the age old song in a rich deep voice.

The old man raises his hands from the drum, its final note ringing in the night and his eyes close slowly as his head dips to his chest and heaves heavily in one last guttural breath.

This is a freewrite from @mariannewest using today's prompt beads
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